


Skinny Love (Just Last the Year)

by Dekka



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rehabilitation, mention of suicidal thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-02-23 23:47:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13201164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dekka/pseuds/Dekka
Summary: Auston expects everything in Toronto to be cold, but finds out that the small of Mitch's back radiates heat even on the coldest days.***Aka: Love can't fix an eating disorder, no matter how hard Auston tries.(Chapter one: Auston's perspective, Chapter two: Mitch's)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: Outside perspective of an eating disorder. Auston is angry and confused/doesn't know how to help 
> 
> This is completely fiction.

Mitch is fragile bones and cold hands. He steals fries from teammate's plates while ignoring his own and is always the first guy in the locker room, breakfast hall, and bus.

He's big smiles, soft looks, and batting eyes- a flirt.

With a frame so slight he somehow still manages to control the world around him, inflicting more than he takes on from the cold streets.

Auston expects everything in Toronto to be cold, but finds out that the small of Mitch's back radiates heat even on the coldest days.

From the outside, everything seems fine as each day gets worse. Winter's just around the corner and Auston dreads it every year, making him miss home like a phantom limb; but this year is different.

This year he watches Mitch's smile grow weary, his weight shedding like a second skin, the heat leaving his body.

Pound by pound everything changes and Auston finds it harder to miss home when he's trying so hard to make someone else's right again.

It's not easy. Mitch deflects like it's a game, always dangling the truth over their heads with humor. "I'll eat my weight in protein tonight, Matts, don't worry."

Auston worries.

Him and Mitch have always been inseparable, so it's no surprise when one by one their teammates pull him to the side. Their eyes are hard, scared, their voices low as if everyone around them isn't thinking- wondering, questioning- the same thing.

Their concern makes the chill in the winter air feel permanent. 

Auston tries his best, but he's in over his head. He cooks them food and learns how to beg. He tries reason, manipulation, then he pleads, he cries; nothing works.

He's the one that holds Mitch through the worst of it, his grip iron tight as if that alone will keep Mitch from shrinking from existence.

It's never enough. He can't be there all the time, as much as he wants to be.

Everything Auston does to help only pushes them further apart, Mitch unwilling to face the problem he so desperately needs to.

And so Auston watches Mitch make it through the season dangling by a thread, dodging their trainers day by day. He won’t last much longer, the other shoe is about to drop. They all know something has to happen soon. It’s the biggest non-secret secret; Mitch Marner has an eating disorder.

The questions that used to be chirping material about his height and weight turn serious, being avoided only by non-answers and media black outs.

It's January when their worst nightmares come alive.

Practice hasn't even officially begun when Mitch falters in his steps, sliding down to the ice in a heap.

For a few painful seconds Auston just watches frozen, thinking _this is it_ , but after a shaky attempt at getting up, Morgan and Marty help Mitch back up to his feet. Behind them, Patty brushes ice dusting off of Mitchy's back, leaving a steady presence to take up the behind of their parade to the bench.

It seems like everything's fine, Auston's breath finally coming back, but Mitch's body has fought off the cold for too long. He goes limp, and not expecting his full weight, the vets around him can only lower him gently to the ice.

The saddest part is, is that it's not surprising.

Practice gets canceled for the first time that day and Auston tries his best to keep himself going, flying through the motions of changing and packing up, trying to forget what it looked like to see Mitch lying limp as the trainers rushed to do what they could.

Auston can't help but blame himself. He's not surprised, he's not anything, he's just numb.

Numbness turns to anger when he hears that Mitch is fine, getting electrolyte treatment in the med rooms.

The sick, soul-chilling worry that was like lead in Auston's stomach goes hot. Mitch did this to them and he can't help but hate him for it. He just doesn’t understand. Their lives are great, they have everything they could ever want; so _why?_

***

Mitch doesn't come back to practice the next day, or the day after that, and Auston finds out through Mitch's Mom that they've decided to send him away.

 _Good_ , he thinks, praying they can do something he couldn't.

Mitch's Mom hugs him before he goes, tears in her eyes, but Auston is done crying.

The drive home feels like it takes hours and when he gets there he can't even look at the plate of food sitting out for him. Blatantly he wonders if this is what Mitch feels like, looking down at what you need but too sick to even think about eating it.

The plate ends up broken in the sink, the food tossed, untouched in the garbage.

Auston chokes his sobs with his pillow that night, then sleeps through every alarm he set. 

He tells coach he has the flu and prays no one calls him on his shit. 

Babcock must know either way, his voice sympathetic over the phone as he tells him to take the day to feel better. 

***

They call up another player to replace Mitch and he does good. Good enough that Auston can’t look at him, can barely even glare away pressing media questions about ‘the new guy’ or ‘Mitch’s mysterious upper body injury’. 

Coach promises that there’ll always be a spot for Mitch, but it feels empty. 

A week after he’s sent to some rehabilitation center they have an official team meeting about the issue, preaching about mental and physical health. 

Auston makes it through the first ten minutes before he excuses himself, camping out in the locker room until his teammates come back. He doesn’t let himself think, staring blankly at Mitch’s locker filled in with another player’s name. 

Coach doesn’t let him off the hook this time. 

They talk for hours that night and by the end Auston doesn’t feel quite so much like he’s struggling to stay afloat. 

“Mitchy’s in good hands,” Babcock promises Auston as he leaves the rink. 

It wouldn’t be so difficult if he actually knew where Mitch was or if he was able to contact him, if even just for a minute. 

He wants to apologize. He wants to tell Mitch he loves him. He wants to tell Mitch that he needs him in his life.

***

After three long, painful weeks Mitch comes back, his face fuller but eyes darker.

They dance around each other for another week even though their teammates are all quick to make amends, welcoming Mitch back with open arms. It’s not so easy for Auston. 

He can't forget his last plea to Mitch, days before his collapse, that ended with a plead for him to get help if not for himself, then for Auston. He was only met by silence.

The silence could've been fear, or sadness, but now he can see it for what it was; hopelessness. 

There’s only a small bud of a hope left in Auston, jaded after months of believing that Mitch was going to be fine only to be proved wrong time after time. 

But as days go by Mitch keeps surprising him. There's a protein bar in his hands before and after practice, and a full plate in front of him at lunch. And somehow he eats it, as if it's just that easy, even though a month ago Auston had to do everything in his power to get him to confront food.

If anything, it makes him more angry, but the anger is overshadowed by the fluttering of something bigger; the hope that long ago destroyed itself.

***

“Are we ever going to talk?” 

Mitch is leaned against his car, wrapped in a jacket that Auston knows isn’t warm enough. 

“Get in” he commands. He waits for Mitch to press his hands to the vents as he blasts the heat, but he never does. The added weight is doing him good. 

“I’ll never be better, completely.” 

His tone isn’t resigned and that surprises Auston more than anything else. Mitch is doing everything in his power to keep eye contact, to relay his honesty, but Auston can’t look at eyes he’s watched tormented for the last half year, scared to see a glimpse of the same pain that’s followed them around. 

“Where’d they send you?” He has a million questions, but it seems like a good place to start. 

“Private clinic, felt more like a jail to be honest.” He says it so nonchalantly, shrugging, as if everyone gets sent away at some point in their lives to relearn how to do something as basic as eating.

It’s only then that Auston can look at him, searching for more bad news. He cant explain it, but hearing it was awful, prison-like, is somewhat of a relief, almost like he’s finally seeing through the happy, too good to be true, narrative of ‘Mitch is off somewhere getting better.’ As if it could ever be that easy.

“I had three minutes of phone time every week and I could only talk to someone if my therapist approved it.” Mitch’s smile is growing, seemingly amused by Auston’s attitude to his bad news. 

“I had a roommate, too, Matty, I’ll never complain about rooming with you again, I swear.” He’s full-out laughing now, voice booming through the car. It’s so familiar to how things used to be that Auston cant help but go for Mitch’s hand, squeezing it once before intertwining their fingers. 

“I want to hear all about it- everything.” 

They have to wait another ten minutes before they drive home, Auston unable to stop his eyes from clouding with tears. 

It’s good tears though, happy tears. 

***

“Promise me something,” Auston whispers. They’re tangled together in bed, Mitch swimming in Auston’s sweater and sweat pants. 

Mitch just hums, on the brink of sleep, voice warn from talking for so long. 

“You have to be honest, Mitchy.” He can feel the way Mitch stops breathing. 

“If you’re having a bad day, or having trouble eating you need to tell me, you cant just fake it again, or make jokes to cover up what’s really happening.” 

Mitch doesn’t answer for a long time, slowly picking his words. He squeezes Auston hard to reassure him, kissing his chest before he buries back against him. 

“It’s going to be hard,” he says knowingly. Auston nods along, pushing Mitch until they’re laying face to face. 

He brushes his thumb along the hollow of Mitch’s cheek as they breathe together. There’s a certain thrill to being able to feel the meat of his cheek compared to the bone he would’ve been tracing months ago. 

“I don’t care if it’s hard.” 

Mitch scoffs but Auston shushes him. “I want to be here for you, even if it’s hard, even if we struggle.” 

It’s maybe too honest, maybe too close to admitting his feelings, but he figures Mitch wouldn’t mind his confession given the way they’ve been tangled together for the last four hours. 

"I don't understand it- I won't pretend to, but I can try." 

He knows they have years ahead of them, but they’re finally taking steps in the right direction. Cautiously, he can feel the bud of hope in his chest growing, basking in the day’s truths. 

“Thank you, Matty,” There’s tears slipping to settle against Auston’s thumb, so he brushes them away, gentle with Mitch even though he knows it normally annoys him. 

“I couldn’t have done this without you,” Mitch admits. Auston doesn’t think he’s done much, and probably has done the right thing even less, but hearing Mitch say that, on the better end of the last half a year, has him tugging him closer, hiding his tears in Mitch’s hair. 

***

Auston wakes up surprised by the weight on his chest. 

Not because it’s there- he instinctively knows it’s Mitch- but because it’s the same weight he’s used to, but _heavier_. Concrete. 

His eyes cloud, overcome by feeling, leaving him squeezing Mitch to his chest, overjoyed at finally having him back. He knows things aren’t fixed, but they’re better. It's a start and that’s enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think, comments feed the writer
> 
>  
> 
> If you want your heart to feel bubbly but also sad here's an Ed Sheeran cover of Skinny Love:  
> https://youtu.be/ZxWiRBBPnr8


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mitch figures things out. This starts where the chapter before started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, huge warning for eating disorders. Please take care of yourselves, don't read this if it'll be bad for you

Help is nice but never what you really want. 

Mitch proves that time after time again.

Deny. Convince. Retreat. Restart. 

He lives his day by a formula. 

Intake minus outtake and _deny_.

Sometimes he forgets to subtract, looking for hours at calories and grams and ounces and things that make him wince and shake his head ‘no’ when teammates ask him to come to dinner. Those days are the worst, his stomach and muscles cramping from exertion he can’t let himself count. 

Every mirror reminds him. Every locker room chirp cements what he knows. Each day is another day with their trainers pressing and prodding and poking and it’s _never. fucking. enough._

***

They draw blood like he’s a renewable source, then use him as a science experiment. It’s only after a water tank and the next three tests that they tell him they’re checking his resting metabolic rate. 

The day was largely a blur after that, but Mitch remembers biting words and sympathetic, anxiety-ridden talks. It’s not their trainer’s faults. They’ve never dealt with this before. 

More than anything, Mitch tries to make himself believe that this is sustainable, even when Auston starts learning how to cook. It’s a nice gesture, but Mitch sees him guess on ingredients too many times, not measuring perfectly, not counting exactly how many or how much or what brand or what flavor or what percent fat, sugar, or carbs. 

It never really gets better from there. 

Then winter comes, and winter in Toronto is never a beach walk, but Mitch learns just how hard his teeth can clatter that year. 

For him, Christmas is his breaking point. 

Auston buys him a heated blanket. Some other stuff is thrown in, but Mitch can’t look away from the plug and the levels marking each degree of warmth he wishes he could feel inside his bones. 

“Thank you,” he says. He knows his eyes are watering as he smiles. Still, Auston leaves after he opens his gift and Mitch tells his Mom he stayed the day just so he has an excuse for why he didn’t spend Christmas with his family. It’s all so that he can sleep with the sun, watching snowflakes from his window. 

Toronto doesn’t rest on Christmas and it’s the sound of festivities so out of reach that make him eventually give in to darkness, closing his eyes and closing off the world. 

***

The first time he uses the heated blanket he feels stupid. Mostly because they’re in a heat wave, everyone around him shedding their coats until the next round of snow, but he cant shake his chill. 

It’s like it isn’t on his skin. It’s in his chest, his hands, his teeth, his bones. 

He feels his heart flutter everyday and everyday he wishes that flutter would turn to gusts of wind from wings meant to take him away. 

***

“ _Please, Mitch, for me?_ ” 

Auston wants him to eat. Auston wants him to not look at calories and gain weight and be heavy enough to play in the NHL even though he thinks he’s doing just fine as he is. 

Auston doesn’t know about the days Mitch spent in Juniors hunched over a plate of food, his Dad standing over him. Like a broken record he’d say “one more bite,” over and over and over and over and over again until Mitch wanted to scream and cry and tell him to go fuck himself and every other person that ever told him he was too small. 

Even the media presses in. 

Time after time they ask him how much he’s trying to gain, what he’s trying new this time as if seven pounds wasn’t enough of a battle for him. 

It’s not enough to win, to score, for them. 

Then Auston stops playing dumb, fear turning him cold. He corners Mitch in the dining halls, sits with him through lunch and dinner at home, and watches each bite go down piece by painful piece. 

“If you need to pee there’s a sink in the kitchen,” he offers every single time Mitch tries to sneak away. 

So next weigh in the trainers look a little happier and Babcock doesn’t make him sit out for the last round of drills and it feels good. 

It feels good to be good again, even if just for a moment. 

And then his Dad sees him. 

And then, “don’t come crying to me when you’re sent down,” are the first words out his mouth. 

And Mitch fucks up. He yells and screams and throws things and his Dad leaves his apartment with wide, fearful eyes and Mitch feels powerful for the first time off the ice in what feels like forever. 

He’s unstoppable. 

So he destroys things and himself. He throws up and then eats and then throws up again and then calls Auston crying, begging to be put back together and Auston comes, always comes. 

He cleans up everything Mitch broke in careful, stunted silence and then lays everything down. 

“You have an eating disorder,” he says and Mitch breaks him, too, then. 

“Get out,” he cries, but it’s weak even to his own ears. He hates that he wants him to stay. 

“Leave,” he yells. Again and again he hits and punches and pushes at Auston’s chest but he stands like a mountain cutting wind. 

It isn’t until his hands circle Mitch’s wrists, pinning them to his chest and holding him in his arms that he presses a kiss to Mitch’s forehead.

It feels scorching. It feels like warmth. And Mitch hates himself for leaning into it, his eyes slipping closed so he can try to remember every detail down to the grain. 

“If not for yourself then for me, Mitchy, please,” he begs, unknowing. 

Even with the hoarseness of his voice, begging for Mitch to end their misery, Mitch thinks in circles. 

Deny. _Convince._ Retreat. Restart.

He clears his eyes, takes a step back, and smiles, shaking his head like he doesn’t have a clue what he means. “Auston, I’m fine.” 

And so he goes another day. 

And another.

And another. 

And then he meets the ice, face first and dizzy and trying to hold onto reality. 

He doesn’t feel justified or happy or closer to his goals even though he thought his heart was done with him. 

Then Babcock and his parents and important people share a room and his own life is taken in a much different way. They don’t know that it hasn’t been his in a long, long time. 

He has to fly miles away and give up his shoes and clothes and self and still, he squares up, ready to _deny, convince, retreat, restart_. 

At first, days pass in blurs and threats and treatments and therapy. 

But after what feels like an eternity, Mitch learns how to talk to his parents again, his therapist sitting across from him, handing him tissues every other time he chokes on his own breath. 

That night he purges and his roommate yells for the nurses, talking about demons that are eating him up. 

He feels too good to care as the night aids work to fix everything he’s broken in a purposely safety-locked room. 

“ _This isn’t a sprint, it’s a marathon_.” 

And Mitch tries to count calories in his head, numbers burned into his brain, but they’ve seen his type before and it’s easy when you know what you’re doing. He’s reminded over and over again that their staff aren’t hockey players, coaches, and trainers. They see what he’s hiding, no matter how well concealed. 

He can’t deny his problem here. He can’t convince them he’s fine. So he retreats. 

It starts on a Monday and Mitch only knows because he gets his phone calls on Mondays. 

Auston’s number is in his head, but there’s words there he isn’t ready to say. So he pushes on and his retreat becomes learning how to restart. 

They work ground up, fixing fundamental things that Mitch would be rolling his eyes at. But days bounce, retreat and restart closing in on each other until Mitch learns that this isn’t a battle won in one day. 

He wants to get better. He wants to play hockey. 

He doesn’t want to eat. 

Still, he restarts, just like at midnight as his calorie count hits zero and he breathes a little easier, knowing he’s just himself, not a food or weight, and that’s good enough. 

There’s still pressure to gain weigh here, but they don’t tell him he’ll never be able to compete. They don’t tell him he wont last long, that his dream will be stripped from his hands. 

Slowly, Mitch learns to work through things. He learns that being himself doesn’t mean having an empty stomach. 

It’s hard because his problems focus around the pressure for him to gain weight so that he can be better at hockey, but here they want the same thing, and for a long time Mitch thinks of them as the enemy, poised to shoot him with whatever they’re got to fix him, make him “better,” make him ready to play _at a professional level_. 

By the last week of his stay he’s learned that his roommate wants to kill himself and it makes him lay awake at night, watching the ceiling. 

It was something that slipped out during group therapy, George panicked and hyperventilating as he dug nails into his skin. 

Mitch looks over at him now, eyes peaceful in sleep. 

Everyone’s fighting themselves, here. 

It makes Mitch think of Auston for reasons he doesn’t want to think about. 

He turns around, whispers “goodnight” to George, and falls asleep peacefully. 

The next day tragedy strikes in the clinic and Mitch reevaluates, eats his dinner, cries in therapy, and learns that his roommate is going home. 

He comes back to an empty room, a letter from George sitting on the bed. 

Mitch would be the first to admit that their beginning two weeks together were rough, especially after George threw him under the bus for purging, but by the end there was an understanding. 

They weren’t going to let each other die. Not in here. Not in this sectioned off, cold, grey, jail. 

When he reads the letter in full something in him breaks. 

He hopes George makes it. 

Days later he leaves too, an army at his back that promises to give him the tools to succeed. 

Still, he struggles. 

They told him the first week home would be the hardest and they weren’t kidding. He’s almost glad Auston is giving him room to come to him because if he had to talk to him now, while reeling, he’s sure he’d fall back into every pattern he’s trying so hard to kill. 

Everything’s too much and meals are more than too much. More than once Mitch has to put a hand over his mouth, forcing himself to swallow when his parents are distracted. 

Those moments aren’t often, though. They barely let him out of their sight, especially during and after meals. 

His only reprieve is, oddly enough, team meals. The trainers let him sit in their offices or locker room, and even on the road he gets to eat alone. Their only rule is that he has to eat everything, and while that’s hard enough, it’s still easier than being stared down by his teammates for forty minutes. 

It’s a new routine to get used to, and more than once he falls off the wagon, but he gets back on every time, determined. 

And so he decides to face Auston next. 

He thinks he’s ready, but Auston knows him, and knows his struggle from days spent torn apart by it. 

And then he’s in Auston’s bed, warm for the first time in months, even though Matts makes him promise to admit his failures and hardships as they come. 

Sleeping next to him that night is like sleeping in the desert and Mitch basks in the warmth, determined to light his own fire within to carry around for himself. 

Still, he knows he can come back to Auston, borrowing his flame when his own gets low. 

It’s sustainable in the way Mitch never knew they could be, not while he’s lost in his own battles. It makes him realize that he’s allowed to run his marathon besides someone, that he’s allowed to need someone’s voice in his head urging him on, as long as he finishes the race, as long as he follows through, for himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think :) I have a lot written on this subject because it's something I always feel the need to vent about and if it gives people reassurance or anything I'd be cool to share them!


End file.
